


The Only Proof

by awaketoolate



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Baker Bitty, Bitty feels inadequate, Falconer Jack, Gratuitous use of italics, Jack uses Bitty's first name, M/M, Soulmate AU, zimbits - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-22
Updated: 2016-06-22
Packaged: 2018-07-15 14:26:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7226107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awaketoolate/pseuds/awaketoolate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The name on his arm read Jack, which irritated Eric quite a bit, because how many Jacks had he met in his life? Why couldn’t he have a soulmate with a less common name, like Francisco or Axel or Bernard? And it didn’t help that his own name was ridiculously common, too. Jack and Eric. Eric had to admit, though, that he did like the sound of that.</p>
<p>OR</p>
<p>A Zimbits soulmate AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Only Proof

**Author's Note:**

> "Then I believe in what you say  
> There's nothing left for you to do  
> The only proof that I need is you"  
> \- Proof by Paramore

On a Tuesday in early January, Eric Bittle wiped an oversized white sleeve across his forehead. Industrial-sized ovens blazed behind him in his own bakery nook, and dripping sweat over the crust he was kneading was not an option. As a new assistant baker at the Whole Foods of Samwell, Massachusetts, he was desperate to make a positive impression, so he played his baking playlist quietly from his pocket so that only he could hear it, and still baked tirelessly five hours into his six hour shift. Not that it felt much like work to him, really, as it was a far away dream to open his own bakery one day. For Eric, baking was not only a distraction from the research paper sitting unstarted on his laptop, but it was something he loved wholeheartedly. Unfortunately, though, pie-human marriage was not yet legal in the United States. 

Raw flour clouded the air around him just slightly and dusted his worktop. He was nearly constantly coated in a thin layer of it, even after work, where he didn’t have time to shower between his morning shift and his first class of the day. The thick scent of vanilla, spices, and freshly baked bread filtered through his nose as he ignored the cute couple feeding each other a slice of cake at the table in the corner and the two middle-aged women making a show of swinging their intertwined hands between them as the browsed the shelves. And, logically, he knew he was only twenty-one years old and plenty of people his age still hadn’t found their soulmates. However, there was still that pang of emptiness, the little twinge of sadness he felt when he saw other people going through their days with their soulmates by their sides, and he was afraid that the longer it took, the less time he’d have to spend with his one true love.

Eric scratched at the mark on his inner forearm, a very real-feeling itch in the back of his head serving as a constant reminder that he had not yet found his soulmate. The name read Jack, which irritated Eric quite a bit, because how many Jacks had he met in his life? Why couldn’t he have a soulmate with a less common name, like Francisco or Axel or Bernard? It wasn’t like he could go around asking for handwriting samples from every Jack he met. And it didn’t help that his own name was ridiculously common, too. Jack and Eric. And despite liking the sound of that, as he watched his friends pair up around him, he had started to doubt whether he’d ever find his soulmate.

Now working on autopilot (because, really, this had to be his tenth pie crust that day after dozens of cookies), Eric jumped when he heard a voice from across the counter. He let the dough rest on the counter, wiped his hands across the front of his apron, and looked up. He stared, dazed just slightly, at the customer patiently waiting for him to snap out of his trance. The man was unfairly attractive, with droopy blue eyes, sharp cheekbones, and a very strong build. Eric blinked a few times and told himself that this was _certainly_ not the time to be getting all in a tizzy over this handsome man who looked like he was too fit to have ever had pie a day in his life. 

“Hi there, I’m sorry about that. What can I do for you, sir?” Eric asked politely. Despite attending university in New England for four years, he was quite proud to say that he held onto his good Southern manners everywhere he went. He didn’t mean to stare, because his mama had always told him that staring was rude, but he wasn’t having an easy time with it.

“I, er, just wanted to know where the whole wheat bread was moved to.” The customer seemed to stare purposefully away from Eric. Some people just wanted to avoid extra awkward eye contact, Eric supposed. It was a shame, he thought, since he really wanted to admire those eyes for a moment longer. Just because he had not yet found his soulmate didn’t mean couldn’t browse the market, he felt. 

Eric noticed the man had an odd lilt to his voice, but he couldn’t quite place it. “Ah, it’s in aisle two, middle on the right if you go this way,” he directed, gesturing across the store. The customer’s eyes followed his finger, and he received an “Oh, thanks,” before the man started to turn away. A sudden bit of panic flittered through Eric’s stomach: he was stuck in the bakery, and this beautiful, awkward stranger was going to look at bread across the store. 

“Wait, sir!” The customer finally met his eyes as he turned his head around, though his face was still rather expressionless. Eric was not going to pay attention to the the _thumpthumpthump_ of his heart inside his chest, because he didn’t even know this stranger’s name, _so stop being ridiculous, Eric Bittle._

“Would you like a sample? Looks to me like you want a bit of pie, if I do say so myself!” Eric said cheerily. While he had just started at this job, he had been baking since he was just four years old, and he had seen time and time again the smiles his pies brought to people’s faces.

More staring. It seemed as though this customer was a man of few words. “I really don’t think I can; I have to follow a pretty strict diet…” He trailed off, gaze now locked on the dessert case below. And, suddenly, blue eyes became a shade brighter, thick dark eyebrows rose into his hairline, and a finger slowly rose to point at something in the case. “Wait, do you use real maple syrup for that pie?” 

Eric knew he’d gotten him. He didn’t hide his grin as he leaned over into the case to retrieve the slice he was talking about. “You mean the maple sugar crusted apple? Sure do! Came out of the oven this morning. Made this one myself, so I know it’s good. And I never lie about baking.” He showed off the piece in all its glory, the crust a perfect golden brown and the inside full of soft Granny Smith apples speckled with cinnamon. 

“Well, maybe just a sample, then. And I’ll move my cheat time this week.” Eric cut off a generous piece of the slice for a sample for him and placed it on a small paper plate, inhaling deeply as he reached over the high counter to hand off the sample and a plastic fork.

The customer took the pie from him, leaning over the plate to breathe in all the sugary goodness. Then, he carefully used the side of the fork to wedge off half an apple slice and a bit of crust, gingerly spearing it before using his teeth to scrape the utensil clean. He chewed thoughtfully before a small toothless smile curved upwards into his cheeks. Eric just watched on, delighted that this awkward, good-looking man seemed to enjoy the pie that he had made with his own two hands. He absolutely demolished the rest of the sample in two big bites, looking back up at Eric once he was finished. He looked a bit sheepish, as if he were debating whether or not to ask his next question, which was, “Could I maybe have the rest of that slice packaged up?” He was blushing a bit, as well, as if he were embarrassed that he liked a slice of pie, of all things. Eric found it simply adorable.

“Better yet, I’ll get you a whole new slice. They’ll charge you for a whole one if you bring this piece up to the register, so you may as well take what you’ll be paying for,” Eric responded, and he turned his back on the customer, only letting himself peek from the corner of his eye as he packaged up a fresh piece of piece of pie. He swore that the customer was staring at him once again, but still not at his face. He pushed down the flush that threatened to rise into his cheeks— _calm down, Eric, he just wants his pie_ , he told himself. He carefully flattened a sticker over the container to seal it, turning back around and using both hands as he stretched up onto his tip toes to pass the pie over and _was that just my mind playing tricks or did our fingers just touch?_ Surprised, he snatched his hands back to himself just a bit too quickly, and tried to play it cool by wiping his sweaty palms on his jacket front. 

“Oh, erm, thank you. Eric.” Another awkward smile. He ducked his head in a kind of nod, and turned on his heel. Eric stood in confusion at how the customer knew his name, and then reached up to fiddle with his own name tag. 

Another wave of panic washed over Eric as he watched the (broad and handsome, he noticed) shoulders of the customer walking away from him. He called out, “You should come in on your next cheat day, and I’ll be sure to have another one of these waiting for you.”

The customer turned his head back around, stopping for a moment to listen. Another smile appeared, and he nodded again and kept going. Eric finally turned back to his pie crust, and smiled into his dough for the rest of his shift.

~~~~~

This customer was back that next week, and the week after that, too. And on the fourth week, he once again walked over to the bakery with a cart containing nothing more than a huge container of protein powder. Eric had not yet asked him his name; he did not want to be disappointed when yet another good looking man didn’t have his name on his arm. He looked forward to his arrival every week, once a week at ten-thirty in the morning, though the day changed from week to week. Eric had made sure for the past two weeks to take extra care of his hair in the morning, slicking it back with a bit of product that smelled like freshly picked apples. He applied extra lip balm because shame on him if he cracked like an old leather couch. And he may or may not have asked his friend Lardo to cover the all-nighter dark circles under his eyes at 5:30 that morning before he left for his shift. 

Even if he thought that there was no way that this handsome near-stranger could be his soulmate, he didn’t see the harm in chatting (read: flirting) with him a bit. Plus, despite their awkward first encounter, talking to the man had become an enjoyable part of his week. As it turned out, he was polite, took Eric’s jibes at his eating habits well, and even made a bad baking joke the previous week to the tune of “What does bread do after it’s done baking? It loafs around!” The surprise of the joke had Eric cackling for a good minute, so much so that he almost missed the self-satisfied little smirk on the customer’s face. So, when his customer appeared at the bakery counter, Eric stood on his toes, leaning over to rest his forearms down, and grinned widely at him. 

“What can I get you, sir? Anything in particular?” 

“Actually, I thought I might switch it up this week. What does the baker recommend?” he asked, hands on his hips. He was wearing the same navy blue zip-up sweatshirt as all the previous weeks, a pair of worn blue jeans that hugged his thighs tightly, and this week he had added an old black baseball cap. 

Eric pulled back to check the stock on the case in front of him. Different types of pies, muffins, cakes, and tarts filled the glass shelves below, and, although they weren’t all made by him, he wouldn’t say no to the opportunity to charm him with a new dessert of his own. He walked over a bit to kneel down, pulling out a tray of assorted peanut butter and jelly macarons. He held one of the treats in a gloved hand, being sure to ask, “No peanut allergy, right?” before he reached out his arm and plopped one of the peanut butter ones into the customer’s hand. 

He bit into it, eating half as little crumbs stuck to the corner of his mouth and fluttered to the floor. Eric _definitely_ did not want to take his thumb and brush them away from the corner of his mouth, goodness gracious.

“That’s amazing, wow.” He stuffed the other half into his mouth. “If this place were closer to home, you’d have me here more than just once a week,” he said through a mouth full of food, wiping his own crumbs off his face with the back of his hand. “Actually, if you had your own shop, you’d be a hit, I’m sure of it.”

Eric smiled, blushing a bit. He ducked down, pretending there was something incredibly interesting about his left shoe. He really needed to get that blushing under control; sooner or later, someone would notice. After he was sure he was back to a relatively normal color, he straightened up and replied honestly, “Why, thank you. That’s the plan, at least. I have to finish my degree and save up for a while, first. But having my own bakery has been a dream of mine since I was little. So you liking my treats means a lot to me.” He paused, looking for somewhere else to take the conversation. “You said this place was far from your home. Where are you from? Certainly not from the county lock-up, with that _gimme all your money look_ , I hope?” Eric teased, then immediately wished he could take it back, worried he went too far by poking fun at the customer’s fashion choices. 

The customer fiddled with the zipper on his jacket. “What? No, well, my friends make fun of me when I wear this out, too, actually. But I’ve never been arrested. So that’s good. Um. If I ever am, I guess I’ll fit the part, eh?” Eric was beginning to love that awkward, sheepish smile, so he just kept on his big, toothy grin, and leaned back and forth from his toes to his heels. “Oh, right, you asked me where I’m from. Providence. Well, I live in Providence now, but I’m from Montreal. But I travel for work a lot, too.” 

“So that’s it! I couldn’t peg it. But Canadian makes sense!” Eric mused. “The politeness, ending your sentences with “Eh”! And your love for maple syrup! Wow, how did I not see this before?” 

“Well, golly gee, you done caught me good! Bless your heart,” the customer said in a terribly overdone southern accent, then cringed. “Okay,” he admitted, “I can’t do this.” 

“Oh my goodness, what are you talking about?” Eric replied, out of breath from laughing a bit too hard. “Wait. Are you mocking me? How dare you! No more dessert for you.” And, with mock indignation, he folded his arm across his chest and turned his head to look away from him. 

“Maybe if you hadn’t spent so much time with cows, you wouldn’t have to hear my bad impressions.” 

A sound of indignation, and then Eric said, “First thing, cows are delightful, and the milk from my Moo Maw’s cow always made the best whipped cream. Second, as the only employee at this bakery counter right now, I have the right to refuse service to big Canadian lumberjacks who insult my Georgia pride! Now you’ll apologize or I’ll make sure you don’t get a single crumb.” Trying to be serious but doing an awful job at it, he stood, hands on hips, and pressed his lips thin so as to not break into another smile. 

“Ah, well, if it has to be done…” The customer sighed loudly and cracked his knuckles. “I’m sorry that the south is impossible to not make fun of.” 

Eric gasped dramatically. “Fine, if that’s how it’s going to be, I’m going back to work. These pies won’t bake themselves, mister.” And, purposefully stomping his feet extra-loudly as he turned around, he pressed both sets of fingers to his mouth in a failed attempt to will away the smile that had formed there. 

Eric felt himself falling, and he was both delighted by and incredibly upset about it. He would bake the smiles away. Types like _him_ just weren’t soulmates with types like himself. And, even though Eric was confident, loved his own personality and his hobbies and his sense of humor, the cards just didn’t stack up in his favor. Even though the great majority of society held very progressive attitudes toward gay soulmates—because, really, who could argue with fate?—all other sorts of social norms colored his worldview. Tall, athletic, blue-eyed hunks were really just not soulmates for too-skinny, freckled, pie baking boys. In the back of his head ran a library of all the most popular soulmate movies. The Ryan Gosling types always end up with the blonde and busty and charming types with legs up to God knows where. And, well, that was fine and dandy and all, but it would not be the first time Eric had been charmed into false-hope about his future love. Because, even though Eric had the blond thing down perfectly, he lacked certain curves that types like his— _not_ his, what was he talking about—this customer desired. So despite his own personal confidence in who he was, and even though he was sure that he had a soulmate somewhere, he had promised he’d stop letting his heart wander. The last time he’d let himself really fall for someone, he only got lost in small cracks in the road, emotionally stepped on by football player Jack from his hometown, and Eric finding out too late that he was looking for an Erica and not an Eric. All in all, Eric had very good reasons, at least in his eyes, to protect his heart. 

“Hey, wait, can I really not have some of those cookies?” Eric, who had gone to stand back at his workstation, turned his head back to look at the customer. Of course, he hadn’t really meant he was going to refuse him service. Apparently, his joking tone had gone in one ear and out the other, considering the crease between the customer’s eyebrows and small frown on his face. 

Eric chuckled to himself, because, somehow confusion made him even cuter, and plucked a container from the stack on top of the counter. He counted out six peanut butter and six jelly, placed them gently in the box, and printed a label from the computer. Once he sealed off the box, he set it on top of the counter. “You know, that was still a half-assed apology, so I’m not sure I’m feelin’ very generous right now. It’s gonna take more than that to earn my forgiveness, mister. And as much as I love just chit-chatting, I’ve got more French bread to take out of the oven before I head out. So you’ll hafta make this snappy.” Resting his head in his palm with his elbow on the counter, Eric merely looked at him expectantly. He really _didn’t_ have all day; his shift was over in twenty minutes, and if he burned that bread there wouldn’t be enough product for the rest of the day. But if he was able to weasel out an apology, he wasn’t sure that anyone else would notice if the bread was extra crispy around the edges.

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry I insulted the south. Southerners are on point.” He scratched his head. “Did I use that right?” 

Eric snickered into his hand. This man was too much, really. “Well, that’s not exactly the word I would use, but, technically, yes.” He leaned over again to hand out the container and the customer took it, resting it in the basket of his cart. “I swear, if you’re plannin’ on dipping those perfect babies into some weird protein shake, I don’t wanna hear about it. I dunno how you put that in anything. Tried it once and nearly threw up! It’s just not natural.” Shaking his head, he continued, “I really meant it, they’ll have my head if I let this bread burn.” Just as he finished his sentence, his oven timer pinged, and he rushed to put on his heavy-duty oven mitts. “Thanks so much! Have a lovely day, sir.” In the back of his mind, he registered the rattling of the cart being rolled away, but he quickly pushed the man from his mind as he pulled giant sheet pans from the oven, focusing on not burning himself on the scorching oven racks. 

Eighteen minutes later, after he had put all the fresh bread into paper sleeves and stickered them for the shelf, his replacement arrived. He gave him a quick run-down of what he had finished and what still needed to be completed before the end of the day before heading to the back to throw his white baker’s jacket into the laundry bin. The store was a little cold for just his short-sleeved t-shirt, and he cursed himself for getting raspberry preserves all over the inside of his coat that morning—never again would he do his last-minute morning toast over the drying rack. Goosebumps quickly rose on his skin, and he rubbed at his arms to try to create warmth from the friction. It didn’t really help, but he was leaving anyway, and he’d left a big fuzzy blanket in his car, so he swung open the big double doors leading from the back of the store and avoided the baking goods aisle in favor of the paper products aisle—it was much easier to resist napkins than good baking chocolate and the cupcake liners with little pastel stars that he _really_ didn’t need, even though they’d make his cupcakes so much cuter.

He strolled through the front end of the store, pausing to chat for a minute with his favorite cashier, Caitlin, who had seen the best ass on a customer and Eric just _had_ to wait until he came through the registers to pay. He only had half an hour to get back to his , the place he shared with a group of his friends on campus, pick up his books, make sure he wasn’t completely coated in flour, and get to class. And even though he was quite intrigued, wondering if she was talking about _his_ customer, and even though he certainly did not oppose seeing him again, his first professor of the day had a strict tardy policy and he had already had been late a few times to her class because of work. So he said goodbye and headed for the exit. As he left, he raised his arms up above his head to stretch and crack his knuckles, taking in the bright sky for the first time that day through the huge windows in the front of the store. It was still early enough in the year that the sun rose after he arrived for his shift, and despite the below freezing temperatures, the light reflected off the snowbanks and teased him, telling him that maybe he wouldn’t nearly get frostbite on his Georgia ears and nose on the way to his car. 

Still a bit dazed by the glaring sun outside, Eric barely heard the panicked _wait!_ that came from behind him, and even then, didn’t think it was for him, and just kept walking. It wasn’t until he heard Caitlin calling his name that he turned back around, a “Caitlin, I literally do not have a hot minute to look at any butts right now!” falling off his lips, when he saw his customer looking bug-eyed at him from the end of the line in her check-out lane, arm outstretched and expression panicked. Eric just squinted at the scene playing out in front of him, confused as a cow on AstroTurf. 

Looking frantic, the customer vaulted over the belt and into the empty lane next to him, and, startling the family in front of him, he knocked over boxes of mac and cheese and sent a head of lettuce tumbling. He landed a bit awkwardly, his momentum carrying him into the next register, and he fell against it before lurching back to his feet. Eric watched wordlessly, and—to be honest—quite blankly, because he had no idea why any of this was happening or what any of it meant. For all he knew, it could be an overreaction to _hey, you left your car keys_. The customer strode purposefully across the short distance from the register to the door where Eric stood. He stopped with a foot of space left between them, forcing Eric to lean back in his place a bit. Even though the view of the customers cheekbones was better from here, this was not appropriate almost-acquaintances distance. The customer was not looking down at Eric’s face, though, but lower. Directly at his right arm, if Eric wanted to be precise.

Eric felt a flush of heat run through him, cheeks definitely burning. Instinctively, he brought his left hand up to cover his arm, cover his name. Everyone had them—even aromantic individuals had platonic soulmates—so he _knew_ there was nothing to be ashamed of. Nonetheless, he was entirely lost by the sudden interest in his. 

The man reached out cradled Eric’s arm in his wide, calloused hand—shockingly gentle after the way he had just nearly sprinted across the small space—and nudged Eric’s fingers away with his thumb. Eric could do nothing but watch, staring downward with wide eyes and shallow breaths, as the customer used the flat of his thumb to trace along the underside of the name. His skin felt like fire under his touch, so much like the time when he was fifteen and daydreaming and forgot to put on an oven mitt before he tried to pull a hot pie off the rack. This time, instead of pink shiny burns across his fingers, the name under his skin got redder, hotter like the flush of his cheeks. They stood like that in silence for the longest moment of Eric’s life, staring at the single point on his arm as the customer’s thumb stopped moving to simply press into the skin there, as if to savor the warmth of it.

In another flash of movement, the customer dropped Eric’s arm and brought his own hand up to the zipper on his sweatshirt, yanking it down forcefully to wrestle it off his body. 

Eric’s breath was coming more harshly now, breathing in, breathing out through his mouth. 

The jacket landed on the floor below, zipper clattering against concrete. That and the blood pounding through his ears like a bass drum _accelerando_ were the only sounds getting through to him. 

He tried to blink himself back to his senses, but failed to do anything but stare blankly, dry-eyed and fuzzy around the edges.

The customer raised his own forearm up into the harsh winter light, arm straight at the elbow but shaking. 

And, flushed brightly above a veiny forearm, _Eric_. Unmistakably his, with the capital E like a backwards three and the unfinished C at the end.

The longer he kept staring at the reddish cursive—and he stared for a _long_ time, because there was no way this was happening to him, Eric Bittle—the shallower his breaths became and the cloudier his vision grew. It took him a moment to realize that he was crying, salty tears rolling over his chapped lips, stinging slightly, and down his jaw, painting tracks through the fine dusting of flour still clinging to his skin. He rubbed away the moisture under his eyes with his fingertips. It wasn’t until then that he looked up at the customer, at _Jack_ , at _his_ Jack. Eric looked at Jack’s intense smile, sunlight dancing across his teeth, He looked at Jack’s shining blue eyes, wet in the corners, too. Eric zoomed out to take in all of Jack’s face at once. Instead of tired eyes, his features glowed, rosy cheeks and dark eyelashes around a nose crinkled with what was undeniable elation. 

It took Eric a moment before he was able to do anything but just keep staring. Still in utter disbelief, he paused his trembling hand over Jack’s forearm, afraid that if he disturbed his surroundings he’d wake up from an impossible dream. Jack nodded, encouraging him, and Eric brought his hand down to rest on arm. Slowly, he outlined the letters of his name with an extended index finger. He’d done this, written his name like this thousands of times. Easy as breathing. 

His breathing had slowed down a bit, becoming more regular again, but the tears hadn’t stopped, and Eric needed to test the waters. “You’re–.” His throat still felt thick, as though tar were oozing down it, and he swallowed. “Your name is Jack?” A slow, reassuring, nod, and Jack smiled. “And my name is Eric. Eric Bittle. And.” A gasping hiccup. “My handwriting, it’s on your arm. And this is yours?” Eric’s whole world moved in slow motion around him, and he showed his arm again. Another nod, slow and steady. Jack’s winter-chapped lips cracked under the pressure of his smile, but if it was painful, he pushed through it. 

Eric still felt the warm tears rolling down his face, burning the skin behind them. A little embarrassed at his own reaction, he scrubbed his palms over his eyes and laughed softly at himself. “I’m sorry, I’m just so happy,” he whispered as an excuse, so only the two of them could hear. It felt like they were the only two in the room, anyway. 

Jack brought his hand up to cradle Eric’s head gently, and Eric’s first thought was that Jack was going to kiss him. He panicked slightly, reluctant to share his first kiss with his soulmate under the current, rather public circumstances. A soft warmth spread through him, starting in his cheeks and growing in his chest, when he felt Jack tenderly dragging his thumb across the delicate skin underneath Eric’s eyes, collecting the moisture that had built up there. 

“It’s okay. I don’t want you to hide your feelings from me. Besides, today is a special day. So it’s okay to cry a little,” Jack said, his own voice starting to crack as he spoke quietly, wanting this moment for only themselves despite standing, watched, in a public supermarket. 

Eric felt himself grinning, sure as anything that he looked incredibly foolish, but not a bone in his body cared. He felt quite like melting right into the floor, if he were honest with himself. He wasn’t sure he could handle all this emotion—the shock, the absolute euphoria, and the overwhelming sense of affection he already felt for this man he still barely knew. This man Eric still barely knew, made Eric weak in the knees with his broad shoulders and pretty blue eyes, made Eric snort with laughter with his ridiculous sense of humor, and, up until ten minutes ago, Eric had convinced himself he would never be destined to match with a boy like _him_. His whole body tingled with happiness, and he felt lighter than air as he tentatively reached upward to cover Jack’s hand with his own. 

Seemingly out of the blue, Eric heard a single shout from across the room. Then, a chorus of cheers and applause. Jack only turned his head, dropping his hand from Eric’s cheek but still holding his hand, leaving Eric to have to completely lean over because, though he had only sort of noticed before, Jack was very tall compared to Eric’s 5’6.5” frame. 

The entire front end of the store, customers and employees who had stopped to watch, was clapping for them. The ringing up of groceries had stopped altogether, but no one had really seemed to mind, too transfixed on the scene playing out in front of them. Eric’s eyes immediately fell on Caitlin, who was standing, hands clasped over her chest, smiling so widely he thought her lips might disappear. And as the clapping died down, Caitlin spoke up. “Eric, you can look at the butt now!” And then she giggled, obviously amused with herself. 

He looked up at Jack, who was now blushing shyly, mouth still pulled wide. When Eric actually did try to lean around Jack, turning his head to see what Caitlin had pointed out, Jack sidestepped him. Eric could tell he was a bit embarrassed by all the attention, so he dropped it and put his curiosity about Jack’s butt to the back of his mind. They could get to that another time.

After another minute, when the surrealism of it all had faded just slightly, Eric remembered that he still had class. He pulled his phone out of his back pocket, not surprised to see that ten minutes had passed since he clocked out. He turned back to Jack, whose smile had faded a bit, though he was still glowing. “Well, I’m gonna be late to my class anyway, so I may as well not go. Besides, there’s no way I could focus now. Do you wanna go somewhere? And we can talk?” He didn’t want to leave Jack now. All he wanted was to find a comfortable, private spot where they could talk freely and learn everything there was to know about each other, from how they each liked their breakfast to what their deepest fears and biggest dreams were. And while his professor might get angry if he missed any more classes, he figured that this time he had a pretty good excuse. 

Jack suddenly frowned, and reached up to scratch the back of his head, and a deep sigh followed. “I’d really love to, and I promise that we will soon, but I have to be at practice at eleven-thirty and I’m already cutting it close. But I’ll text you?” He reached into his pocket to pull out his phone and told Eric to enter his number. 

Eric took the phone and slid open the lock screen, a generic gray gradient, and looked for his messenger app, noticing that his background was a photo of Jack with two others: an older man and woman. Jack was nearly the spitting image of the man, and Eric assumed they were his parents. Then, feeling like he'd be caught for snooping somewhere he shouldn't be, Eric entered his own phone number, and texted himself. 

**To Unknown Number:** :DDD

As he handed the phone back, his own vibrated inside his pocket. It would be slightly more perfect if Jack didn’t have to leave so quickly after they’d just found each other, but he was already feeling so overjoyed at everything that had happened that maybe this was enough emotion for the day.

“Bye, Eric. I’ll text you as soon as I’m done,” Jack promised, looking down into Eric’s eyes again and squeezing his hand.

“Okay. It's nice to finally meet you, Jack.” Eric replied, smiling up at him. And as they both went their separate ways into the parking lot, Eric’s newfound warmth melted the frost on the asphalt, and he didn’t even feel the chill as he walked through the cars.

**Author's Note:**

> Proof is one of my Zimbits songs! The other is Fear the Future by Emma Blackery. 
> 
> First, I would like to ask for forgiveness for the few unexplained plot holes. Though we as members of the fandom know why Jack follows a strict diet and where he's going to practice, etc, Bitty does not. It was my original intention to have this be an incredibly extended fic. However, when I look at this first part and the other parts I have for the rest of the fic, I feel as though this stands alone much better. As the writer, though, I want to keep these parts open in the case that I ever want to return to this AU. I hope you can understand this, and I hope that this doesn't hinder your reading or enjoyment too much. 
> 
> Second, I want to give the biggest thanks to [Rarefiednight](http://eldritchw1tch.tumblr.com) and [Aergie](http://aergie.tumblr.com) for giving me incredibly helpful feedback on this fic. You were both the bomb.com. Any mistakes, though, are still my own. 
> 
> I would also like to thank my lovely friend [Jade](http://bittysplaylist.tumblr.com/) for moral support during the writing process. I know she would love it if you checked out her CP fanart! 
> 
> You can follow me on tumblr at [zimbits-fanclub](http://zimbits-fanclub.tumblr.com)!
> 
> Thanks so much for reading, and hopefully you enjoyed it <3


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